A Bard's Pilgrimage, Journeying with Faendal
by SashaSeer
Summary: It is the King Olaf Festival, and Jeand has agreed to add his tales to the Poetic Edda, however, they aren't what the people of Solitude imagined. How will they react to their Dovahbard's role as follower, not hero, as he recounts the deeds of Faendal, Champion of Whiterun... First Act of the Bard's Edda...


Disclaimer; I don't own Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls, and I am making no profit from these works. These stories were inspired by Morninglight's Ysraneth's Tales series.

Chapter 0:

_/Scene Break/_

_Previously on the Bard's Edda:_

_Paying no head to his fellow professor, Viarmo tried to pass him by without a word, yet was stopped when Jeand said, "During the festival, I'll add my story to the Edda…"_

_/Scene Break/_

**_The Day of the Festival:_**

For the people, life in Solitude was quite pleasant. The citizens were friendly with one another, the high, stone walls kept out all but the most idiotic of dragons, the Imperial garrison that not only helped to patrol Skyrim after the Civil War, but also guarded Solitude from some of the more problematic threats, and, above all else, was the Bard's College which, every year, produced more and more merry men and women to lift the spirits of all those across Tamriel. Along with all those, the Immortal Dragonborn himself was a public figure, helping teach the next generation of Skalds across the land, as well as offer his services to those that require help. That is when he wasn't communing with the sky atop the Throat of the World.

However, today, of all days, after so many years since the illustrious Dovahbard (a title Jeand hasn't, and hopefully, to those that have the unlucky designation of being his friend, never will hear about. He already has enough titles thank-you very much, any more would only serve to inflate his already mountain sized ego) gave up professional adventuring, was going to share the details of his journeys with the people of Solitude. It was exciting to say the least, as many whom had known Jeand One-Arm since they were but whee children had always waited for this day. What else was more exciting than hearing a bardic rendition of the tales of a living legend, by the ACTUAL living legend themselves? Many of the war heroes, sneak thieves, and masters of the arcane of both old and recent could only recount so much of their trials, and even then they tended to be a bit on the bland side. Where as, in contrast, the bards that did have the oratory skills necessary to weave fantasy and wonder from words were themselves stifled as most of the time, said bard had never actually been on the journey that they tended to expound to their audiences. As such it was so very rare for people to actually get a clear, proper, first hand account of a hero's journey in such an engaging and profound manner.

As such, because it was Jeand himself that was giving the account, many a chair and table had been prepared in the open areas of Solitude, as well as one atop the parapets of Castle Dour where the rust haired Reachman would be orating from, utilising his skill with the Voice to enable it to reach all ears within Solitude as easily and as harmlessly as if he were to talk face to face, without his Thu'um, with each person within the confines of the city. High in the sky there also circled a number of dragons, some loyal to Jeand, such as Odahviing (as much a citizen of Solitude in recent years as Jeand was) whom had perched himself atop one of the castle's walls, and others that, whilst neutral to the Dragonborn, wished to hear how the oldest of their kind was felled by a, at the time (or so they thought), mere mortal. The dragons, unlike the mortals below them, had no need of Jeand's Shout, as the mere speaking with the Voice was enough for them to understand what was said. Elsewhere, amongst the crowds of people were a few of those whom had known Jeand through their own adventures with him, such as a Breton man of tanned complexion and blackest red hair whom seemed to be intoxicated, a strange elder Imperial nobleman who had an… odd sense of fashion (a striped noble attire split straight down the middle, colour wise, with one side a bright, vibrant orange, and the other a dull, sickly purple. Many people had to avert their gaze, for it hurt their eyes if they looked at it for too long, and speaking of eyes, why in Oblivion did the man's staff have one as it's focus?), a woman of strangely terrifying beauty, whose blood red and black clothing revealed far more about her body than what some might consider decent, and finally an individual whom kept their features covered via a set of robes, ones of a fine, ancient material.

They, along with a few others, most of whom were old, even by Skyrim standards, had joined Viarmo in the Bard's College courtyard, as they waited for Jeand to begin his tale.

When the signal from Odahviing came that Jeand was to start, Viarmo's mind wandered back to some days earlier, and the conversation he and his colleague had on his decision to share his story.

_/Scene Break/_

**_Six Days Ago:_**

"I'm sorry… What did you say?" Viarmo asked the Reachman Dean of Skalds believing he'd misheard the one armed Dragonborn due to exhaustion.

"I said, during the festival, I'll add my story to the Edda." Jeand replied evenly.

"But, but, but why?" Viarmo sputtered in confusion. He'd spent all of last night trying to figure out how to get Jeand to actually tell his story to the people, something he had vehemently denied to do in all the decades Viarmo had known the man, and yet here he was, of his own volition, offering to do just that. _It has to be a trick…_ the old Altmer thought to himself.

It was a long while before Jeand said anything else, the loss of his right arm teaching him a valuable lesson in patience. When he finally did speak, Jeand's voice betrayed the years his face no longer conveyed.

"Do you remember my children, Viarmo…"

"Um… If you mean those little street urchins you adopted, then yes… Why do you ask?"

"Besides the two of us, only four others remember them… They used to love it when I told them stories of my past…" Jeand replied to Viarmo's confused query. "I've been missing them of late…" he sighed.

"You know you could've…" Viarmo started hesitantly, unsure of his friend's reaction.

"Heh, you sound like Serana when I talk with her about it… I don't think I could've done that to them…"

There wasn't anything Viarmo could say to that. Since becoming a professor at the College, both Jeand and Viarmo had spent hours discussing various topics, more often than not was about the Reachman's adventures. It was through those discussions that Viarmo knew of the relationship the Vampire Lady Serana had with both of her parents after the three of them became undead.

Still, tired as he was, Viarmo could still read the atmosphere of a room, and thus decided to change the topic, for both of their sakes.

"So, you're really going to add your story?" the Headmaster asked.

Pulling his mind back to the present, Jeand responded with, "Yes, I am going to tell everyone of the adventures I had since arriving in Skyrim."

"A wise choice," Viarmo nodded, even he had to agree, having the hero of your tale start off as a prisoner, whilst an intriguing concept, probably wouldn't be something that the people of Solitude would want to hear about, especially considering the type of people currently stationed at Castle Dour. "And how will you be presenting your addition?"

One of the first things every bard learns at the college was the type of presentation one was going to give, determined greatly in the overall success of the piece. It was standard practice for certain details of a performance during the King Olaf Festival to get run by the Headmaster sometime before hand, so as to allow other members of the college to help with the preparations. However, when questioned about it, Jeand rather cryptically said, "Just wait and see Viarmo…"

_/Scene Break/_

All of a sudden the air came alive, an after-effect of Jeand's Shout, Moralizing Echo (_Zul Prolg Su_), one learnt whilst meditating on the Throat of the World, the resulting conditioning of the air being enough to bring Viarmo's mind back towards the present.

"People of Solitude…" Jeand spoke, his voice even and clear thanks to the main effects of the Shout, "you have all gathered to hear my additions to the Poetic Edda." Viarmo raised an eyebrow at that proclamation. _Additions…_ he and some of the more observant members of the audience thought. "Many of you believe that what you will hear today is my story. However, you are mistaken, for my story is the same story as any bard, though with more dealings with dragons than theirs." The citizens of Solitude grew restless over the news; some believed that Jeand was still holding out on them, many more were growing angry at both the guards and the College, demanding that Jeand tell of his adventures, even the Jarl was becoming displeased with what he had seen. The only ones who weren't upset in some capacity were the few of Jeand's travel companions that were still alive, and those that were still trying to understand his meaning of 'additions'. When the restlessness of the citizens came to a head, Jeand spoke once more.

"As I have said citizen of Solitude," his voice still reaching everyone, even within the din of outraged cries of the populace, "I have not come here to tell you of my story, as I do not believe it worth the effort to add it to the Poetic Edda. Instead I shall tell you of my journeys throughout Skyrim…" upon vocalising the statement, many of the incensed citizens ceased in their squabbling. As everyone started to calm down, Jeand continued with "I shall regale you with the places I saw, the people I met, and the friends I made, and whom I witnessed become some of the finest heroes Skyrim had produced in generations. Many of you know them as well, such as Harbinger Borgakh of the Companions, Erik the Slayer, Arch Mage J'Zargo, Frea the Shaman, and Thieves Guildmaster Sapphire." at the mention of those names, many of the audience's eyes glowed with wonder, and the realisation of how great Jeand truly was, to have lived amongst, travelled with, and became a friend to those great heroes.

Viarmo, meanwhile, was not impressed. After stealing a glance at the others of Jeand's circle of friends, it was evident that he was the only one that didn't know about the man's plans for today. _That's it, tomorrow; I'm spiking his drink…_ the Altmer fumed to himself, as he turned his attention back, once more, to Jeand's performance.

"However, their stories will come later in the day, for at this time, I shall tell you of my travels with, Faendal…"

And thus, the tales began…


End file.
